From Cardassia With Love
by TheGhostofStonewallJackson
Summary: After a transporter accident, Bashir finds that Akkad and the other senior officers have replaced various characters within his holodeck program. He and Garak have to keep the program running as long as possible or else the other officers will be deleted along with the holodeck's memory.
1. Spectre

"Alright everybody, looks like we're approaching the station." Commander Sisko announced in relief as Deep Space Nine finally came within range of the viewscreen. Dax, Kira, Akkad, Worf (well, not so much Worf), and O'Brien cheered in weary applause from behind him.

"Never thought I'd miss that Cardassian hunk-of-junk." Major Kira snorted aloud as Dax gave her a friendly shove on the shoulder.

"Oy there major, I do not work day and night to keep that station running for its first officer to call it uh, uh, a hunk-of-junk." O'Brien attempted to feign seriousness, but his smile betrayed him.

"Yeah Kira, if the chief took a break for so much as five minutes, the entire station would spontaneously explode." Akkad was a little more practiced in the art of sarcasm and managed to keep her voice neutral.

"Hah-Ha!" Kira shouted and flung her hand sloppily at Akkad in an attempt at a high-five. Akkad had introduced the human custom to her a few weeks ago but based on how many times the major missed the mark, it clearly was not as intuitive as the doctor had originally thought. Commander Sisko had turned his chair around to face the other officers and was characteristically amused by their interaction.

"We're still working on that." The doctor put an arm around Kira's shoulders and the two burst into a fit of laughter, the major seemingly self-aware of the miscommunication. From the row of seats opposite the two of them, Worf crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, apparently, he was not so easily entertained.

"As I was saying…" Sisko continued, his voice as warm and paternal as always, "we'll be docking in about five minutes. Chief O'Brien, you may prepare to dock."

"Aye, sir." O'Brien turned his chair back toward the pilot's console and started running the required pre-docking systems diagnostics. Akkad managed to catch her breath and let go of the major before leaning across her toward Dax.

"I wonder how Julian's been managing at the infirmary without me." Akkad had worried continuously since the runabout had departed for the conference about how her younger co-chief of medical would fare on his own.

"He's probably been counting down the minutes until you get back," Dax said as she leaned back into her chair.

Julian at that moment was snogging a blond bombshell of a holosuite character when Garak just so happened to stroll in.

"Brava, Doctor. Well done!" The suit-clad Cardassian swayed casually as he avoided the shards of glad scattered across the floor. Bashir wondered for a moment if he had imagined that suave voice, but as he glanced from the corner of his eye and saw a figure approaching him from the doorway, his fears were confirmed. He pulled away from the woman and threw his head back in exasperation. She seemed to lose interest quickly and sashayed out of the room.

"Garak, what are you doing here?" Bashir snarled at him as he put down the broken bottle of wine he still had in his hand and adjusted his suit jacket.

"I wanted to see what you were up to in here." The Cardassian perused the room as he spoke, trampling over debris and what Bashir thought of as his right to privacy. "For the last week, it seems you've been spending every free hour engaging in this holosuite program, and yet you have told no one what it is."

"But this is something private and- Wait, why did Quark even let you in here, I only reserved the time slot for one person?" Bashir tilted his head in confusion.

"I never said he did," Garak responded before abandoning his examination of the surroundings and turning back toward Bashir. "But never mind me, doctor. Please continue this little fantasy of yours, I will observe from afar. Bashir sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"You know, you've been acting a little clingy since Naila left for the conference."

"Clingy, doctor? I don't quite understand how that phrase applies to this context." Garak's eyes were bright and curious.

"In human culture," Bashir explained, "the word clingy is used to describe someone who has a tendency to stay too close to another for extended periods. In some cases, as I suspect with you, out of pure boredom."

"Well, I suppose things have been a little dull around here lately. Business at the shop has been slow, and as you've already inferred I do miss conversation with Dr. Akkad." Garak hinted, lacking some of his usual subtlety.

"I can't believe I'm being guilt-tripped by a Cardassian…" Bashir muttered into the palm of his hand. "Fine, you can follow along. Just don't tell anyone about it, alright?"

"Not to worry, Doctor. My lips are sealed." Garak suddenly seemed to perk up. "so, what happens next in this fascinating epic?" Bashir could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"I already finished this scene, let's go to the next one." Bashir motioned for Garak to follow him through a doorway and into what appeared to be a private residential suite. This program so far had not raised Garak's opinion of human architecture and interior decorating.

"What is this?" Garak sneered.

"We're in Hong Kong now, staying at my penthouse between assignments," Bashir responded nonchalantly as he adjusted his jacket again. Garak raised an eye ridge at him. He was not too well acquainted with the geography of the Earth, but he seemed to recall Hong Kong as being on the opposite side of the planet from the Parisian setting of the last scene.

"You live here? And just what is it that you do?"

"I'm a member of the British intelligence agency. My residence and all the belongings you see here were provided to me by my government." Bashir mumbled as he dropped back into another gaudy piece of furniture on the other end of the sitting room. Garak now felt like he had more questions than answers.

"And here I thought Chief O'Brien's crime novels were irrational."

Eddington stared at the console in utter disbelief. The transporter buffer had failed just as he had tried to beam Commander Sisko and the other officers off the runabout. The only solution had been to completely purge the memory of the station's central computer in order to store their brainwave patterns.

"Did it work Lieutenant?" Constable Odo looked over his shoulder but seemed unable to ascertain the answer for himself.

"It would appear that their brainwave patterns were saved successfully, but I'm a little concerned…" Eddington's voice trailed off as he tried in vain to search what was the left of the computer's memory banks.

"Concerned about what?" The constable huffed impatiently.

"Well, I'm looking everywhere but I can't find their body patterns." Eddington continued his frantic search.

"Can't find them? Did we lose the patterns?" The constable was beginning to contract the lieutenant's panic.

"No, that information was funneled off somewhere, I just can't figure out where. I've tried checking every file location that made sense, but there's just nothing." Eddington smacked the console as the stress continued to build up.

"It looks like you'll have to be more creative than that. Search every possible location." Odo grumbled to himself before leaving the lieutenant to his work.

"Oh, I see what's going on. Major, did Garak put you up to this?" Bashir had given up the exact moment Major Kira had also entered the scene. She had taken over the role of Anastasia Komananov, his Russian associate, and seemed to have really dedicated herself to the part. The major was in costume and everything.

"Julian, my love, I don't understand," Major Kira had even come up with a rather convincing Russian accent.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Bashir threw his arms up in the air in utter defeat.

"I assure you, doctor, I am as surprised as you are." Garak held his hands up defensively.

Bashir held his chin in his hands, totally unsure at that point of how to save face. His mind wandered for a moment to appreciate just how gorgeous the major looked in that low-cut silk slip… before mentally slapping himself on the major's behalf.

"Alright, that is quite enough. Computer, where is Major Kira Nerys?" Bashir put his hands on his hips and waited for an answer. Meanwhile, "Komananov" stared at him as if he were insane.

"Kira Nerys is not on board Deep Space Nine." The electronic voice of the ship's computer chimed. Bashir and Garak looked at each other in disbelief.

"Who is this Kira Nerys?" Komananov shouted, positively aggravated.

"Apparently, not you," Garak replied, once again to Bashir's chagrin.

"This shouldn't be possible." Bashir activated his combadge, "Bashir to Odo, has the Orinoco returned to the station?"

"Yes, however, there was an accident and we had to save the transporter patterns of everyone from the runabout in the station's memory banks." Constable Odo responded.

"Are they going to be alright?" Bashir asked as the first inkling of anxiety began to creep in.

"Lieutenant Eddington is doing everything he can, unfortunately, we seem to have lost all of their body patterns. We know they were saved somewhere but we haven't found out where yet." Odo finished.

"Constable, I think I can solve that problem for you now. Major Kira is right in front of me." Bashir turned slowly toward the holosuite character seated on edge of the bed in front of him.

"That's impossible, where are you?" The constable questioned.

"I'm in the holosuite at Quark's. It looks like Kira's body pattern replaced the specifications for one of the characters in this program."

"Of course! It makes perfect sense, the holosuite's database is specifically designed to save schematics for replicated matter. Doctor, whatever you do, do not deactivate that program. If you do, we may lose Kira's pattern and anyone else who might be in there. Do you understand me?" Odo's voice was suddenly grave and urgent.

"Garak's in here too, does that mean we can't leave?" Somehow, Bashir already knew the answer.

"That's correct. You have to continue the program until we find a way to recover the data that we're missing. Odo out." With that, Bashir, Garak, and Komananov were left blinking at each other.

Meanwhile, a figure lurked in the empty hallway outside Bashir's apartment. She fingered the outline of the revolver hidden within her jacket. The time on her watch was 10:37 PM, her underlings were in place, concealed within a spare room of the apartment and the time was nearly upon them. The shadow twirled a strand of her hair with a graceful flick of the wrist as she waited in silence. Was she nervous? No, Never. She would never have survived so long in this business if she could not keep her cool. But did she trust the uncivilized ape that her employer had left in charge executing tonight's assignment? Not at all. The agent adjusted the front of her jacket and checked her watch again, 10:39 pm. It was time to report in.

"037 reporting," she thumbed a hidden button on the side of her watch, opening a secure channel. "037, please respond." She took stock of her surroundings again as she awaited a response.

"Ah, Ms. Qadir," a suave voice reached her communications device. "I trust that my newest associate is performing to standards." Qadir threw her head back and let out a husky laugh.

"With all due respect, sir, that remains to be seen. So far, he has managed to get his flunkies in position. They are ready to proceed at my signal." Qadir laid a hand on her hip and casually shifted her weight to one side.

"Very good, Qadir. I expect your next report at 12:30 sharp, 095 out." As soon as the boss-man hung up, the operative pressed another sequence of buttons on her watch.

"037 to Falcon, you may begin."

Inside the apartment, Bashir and Garak continued to go along with the plot of the holosuite program while trying desperately to behave as if the fate of half a dozen lives did not rest on their shoulders.

"So what you're saying is," Bashir began as he tried to summarize the mission that lay ahead of him, "The syndicate is kidnapping geologists from around the world and using their knowledge to trigger catastrophic earthquakes." Colonel Komananov nodded urgently.

"Yes, and your responsibility is to track down their latest victim." The colonel opened the manila folder on her lap and handed Bashir a photograph from its contents. "She is Dr. Honey Bare, an expert in geology and the physical sciences. She disappeared out of nowhere five days ago, and the British government wants you to find out her whereabouts."

"Garak, it's Dax!" Bashir ripped the photograph from Komananov's hand as soon as he recognized the face. Garak moved in closer to confirm his friend's suspicions.

"What are you talking about?" Komananov asked, scowling at the perceived rudeness on Bashir's part.

"It's too much to explain." Bashir turned back to Garak. "But don't you see? Dax is in danger!"

"Well frankly doctor, we can't just assume that-" Garak was cut off as a door slammed in another room. A second later a one-eyed man stormed in a with a rifle, followed by a group of three cronies. Bashir turned around slowly to face him.

"O'Brien?" Bashir voiced his continuing disbelief as the chief's body pattern had replaced the role of his character's nemesis, Falcon, since the last scene. A second later, another figure emerged from the doorway, a woman clad in an all-black catsuit and leather jacket, swaying her hips as she strolled into the room behind the rest of her group.

"Dr. Akkad?" Garak recoiled in shock but seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the doctor's sleek silhouette.

"She's Tehmina Qadir, the eyes and ears of the syndicate," Bashir whispered to his friend. Garak managed to refocus himself after a pause.

"Sorry, I was a little distracted. What did you say?"

"Agent Bashir…" Akkad's character approached him like a tigress stalking prey. Her voice was overlaid with a heavy Arab accent, "…always a pleasure."

"Unfortunately, I can't say I share that sentiment." Bashir stepped back into his role as Qadir closed in on him. Her hand flew to her heart.

"Oh, how he wounds me!" Qadir exclaimed aloud to Falcon, who rolled his eyes at her but remained silent. "Now who is this I, must say, handsome gentlemen?" Qadir's attention had turned to Garak. She pulled the revolver out of her jacket and held it up in a gloved hand. "You must be new, I never forget a face." Qadir delicately traced Garak's jawline with the muzzle of her weapon, "especially one as pleasing as yours." Garak was lost once again in the depths of her hazel eyes.

"I am honored, my lady."

"What did you come here for?" Komananov interrupted the interaction. Qadir returned her gun to its resting place and tutted.

"Always the direct one, isn't she? However, to answer your question, there is nothing particularly elaborate planned for tonight. We were simply sent to tie up some loose ends, pity." With that, Qadir turned on her heels and headed for the door. "Take care of it, boys." She said before exiting the scene.

"You heard the lady, time to take out the trash," Falcon grunted as his guards moved forward to secure their prisoners.

"Wait!" Komananov shouted as Bashir pulled her into his arms. "At least, let us have one last kiss?" Falcon tipped his head toward her and grinned smugly.

"What the hell? I am a romantic after all. Make it quick." Falcon kept his gun pointed at the couple as Komananov put her arms around Bashir's shoulders and leaned in for a kiss. Garak was now resigned to the fact that he was stuck in holoprogram with absolutely no redeeming qualities.

"Alright, that's enough!" Falcon decided to break up the lovefest which had dragged out too long for his taste. Out of nowhere, Bashir broke the embrace and threw a spherical object to the ground. The device exploded on contact, knocking Falcon and his guards off their feet.

"Let's go!" Bashir grabbed Komananov by the arm and ran to the door with Garak close behind. The four bodies strewn across the ground did not even have time to recover before agent Bashir had made yet another timely escape.


	2. Casino Royale

It was not until the three were sitting in the back of taxicab speeding away from the apartment complex that Bashir noticed that Garak was bleeding from the corner of his mouth

"How did that happen?" Bashir pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and applied pressure to the wound while Garak tried to move out of his reach. Ineffectively as it were, since the three were crammed into the backseat together with Bashir in the middle.

"Part of the bomb's casing must have hit him after it detonated. My apologies, but we didn't have a choice." Komananov explained.

"Oh, so this was your idea?" Garak asked, still trying to dodge any and all medical attention from Bashir.

"But Garak, don't you understand?" Bashir cut in, having managed to pin Garak down and pressed the handkerchief to his mouth. "The safeties that I had built into the program have deactivated, you could have been seriously hurt."

"My God, so much over fuss over a little blood, he'll live." Komananov sighed in exasperation. Bashir, at last, was satisfied that Garak's wound was minor and released him.

"What are we going to do? We can't exit the story because the others might die, but if we try to carry out the mission, we'll probably die." Bashir agonized over the possible outcomes.

"Don't forget that in the event we do die, the program will end, and the officers' patterns could be automatically purged," Garak commented on the side.

"Somehow, that's not making me feel better." Bashir pouted as he stuffed the bloody handkerchief back into his pocket."

"Oh, it wasn't meant to. Tell me, doctor, does intelligence work still seem like a recreational fantasy to you?" Garak snapped back. Komananov and Bashir groaned in unison.

"This is getting us nowhere. We still have to locate Dr. Bare," Komananov managed to get the other two back in line. "To do that, we're going to infiltrate the syndicate itself. Now Soviet Intelligence has discovered that the leader of the organization, Dr. Hippocrates Noah, has only captured scientists with whom he had arranged meetings in a Paris nightclub. That's where we should start."

"And how exactly are you planning on contacting this "Dr. Noah" without getting us killed in the process, hmm?" Garak rubbed his wound inadvisably.

"Stop it, you're just going to reopen that cut. Anyway, the plan is to infiltrate the club where Dr. Noah likely has a contact." Bashir

"But Julian, how will you convince them to let you see him once you get there?" Komananov's voice had taken on a gentler tone.

"He's looking for scientists, right? I'll tell his people that I am a geologist interested in their project and play it by ear from there."

Qadir had reentered the apartment when she heard the explosion from the floor below. The agent had raced back to find the entranceway ajar and the Falcon on the floor with his group, all of them apparently injured. There were pieces of shrapnel and ash scattered across the carpet among them, probably from a low-level explosive. Qadir grabbed Falcon by the hair and pulled him up off the ground.

"Where are they?" the operative growled in his face.

"I don't know, they got away" Falcon responded sheepishly, already dreading the consequences of his misstep.

"How?" Qadir shouted, "Never mind, we need to locate them immediately. You and your men fan out and search the area. I will contact headquarters and inform them that Agent Bashir could be fleeing the city at this very moment. Now get out of my sight you miserable sons of whores!" Her order was all it took for the four to get off their sorry asses and go back to work.

"Did I not say that those idiots were sloppy?" Qadir muttered to herself as she shut the door behind the others, imagining the look on Dr. Noah's face if he had heard her.

"I suppose if you want something done right you've got to do it yourself."

When Bashir, Garak, and Komananov exited the vehicle, they found themselves in front of a busy nightclub in downtown Paris. Komananov had spontaneously changed costume and was now in pink formal gown typical of the historical setting.

"We're here again? Are we seriously supposed to believe that our characters made it all the way to Paris without being apprehended by their adversaries?" Garak seemed almost personally offended by the implausibility of the program.

"This is not the time to criticize the plot, Garak. Let's go." Bashir led them to the doorway of the club, completely bypassing the other patrons who were patiently waiting in line. He flashed an ID at the bouncer, "I believe I'm on the list, and these two are with me." He gestured at Komananov and Garak. Komananov wrapped her arm around Bashir's and strutted into the building alongside him. Garak stormed after them, biting his tongue to keep himself from starting an argument over just how gullible the security would have to be to not spot Bashir's false credentials.

As soon as they entered the establishment, Garak's eyes were once again affronted by a most offensive disarray of colors and patterns. In his mind, anyone who would combine white and beryl wallpaper with yellow trim frankly deserved to go out of business. He did not even know where to begin with the fashion disaster that was the patrons.

"Primitives," Garak muttered to himself before catching up to Bashir.

"So…Agent Bashir, how exactly are you going to locate the contact?"

"Our best option would be to go through the proprietor, if the syndicate is operating out of his business then he's almost certainly involved." Komananov cut in.

"Excellent idea. Anastasia, we'll find the owner. Garak, keep a lookout in case something goes wrong. Come on, let's try the private room first." Bashir and Komananov strutted off across the casino floor toward a curtained-off suite on the opposite side.

Garak strolled around the edge of the room, taking in the club scene that was only slightly more sophisticated than Quark's bar. He adjusted the collar of his undershirt and pretended to be interested in a game of roulette at a table in front of him. Meanwhile, the seasoned spy let no details escape him. So far, there were no outwardly suspicious characters, meaning that one of two options was true: either there was nothing in the nightclub that the syndicate felt was worth guarding, or, their agents were so well adapted to the environment that not even he could pick them out of a crowd.

A waiter walked around the roulette table, distributing glasses of champagne. Garak accepted one and resumed his watch. He took a sip of the nearly tasteless replicated drink and took stock of the business's security measures. As to be expected, there were several security guards stationed around the room, from the way they moved Garak surmised that each must have been assigned to a specific quadrant of the room which they never left while on duty. There were unlikely to be any sophisticated surveillance devices based on the archaic technology of the time period, but it was always best to assume they were there and act accordingly.

The crowd around the roulette table cheered in unison as the night's big winner jumped out of his chair in delight. Boring. Typical. Garak thought to himself that perhaps a close analysis was unnecessary as the characters in this holoprogram were completely lacking in subtlety. The villains of the story so far were flagrant and dramatic. They dressed differently, walked differently, even spoke differently than their background counterparts. They were mere caricatures of spies.

Garak strolled leisurely around a blackjack table, listening in on the conversation as an experienced fly on the wall. At first, there did not appear to be much worth listening to. There were some brief remarks on the weather, a character who appeared to a wealthy entrepreneur bragged about the success of his recent investments, and there was some talk about up and coming jazz musicians. Honestly, Garak could think of at least half a dozen other programs that were more intellectually stimulating than this. If Dr. Bashir was trying to keep anything about his little excursions in the holosuite a secret, then it must have been his own apparent lack of good taste.

One of the gentlemen across the aisle at another table asked his friend for the time, which was 11:25 in the evening.

"Show starts in five minutes _mon ami_, I'd hate to miss it." The first stated to his companion seated beside him.

"And what is tonight's entertainment exactly?" The other young man asked, inspecting the cards in his hand.

"Why, none other than _La Vipère D'Arabie_ herself, one of the most celebrated performers in all of Paris." The dealer entered the conversation as he distributed poker chips. "Believe me, it is something to see."

"But you haven't told us what the show is?" The cardholder pointed out. The dealer, an older man with wise, knowing eyes winked at him.

"See for yourself, you can thank me later."

The two patrons looked at one another and shrugged. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt to relax a bit while we're here." The less enthusiastic of the pair joked. The other clapped him on the back.

"Let's get down there then so we'll have a good view." The two rose from their seats and made their way across the room.

Garak glanced around quickly, taking stock of his surroundings again. Everything seemed to be unchanged, and unworthy of note. Besides, he considered, it may prove worthwhile to do some more poking around. He followed the two poker players out of the main hall at a discrete distance.

There was a doorway on the opposite side of the room leading into a corridor. There was a line of people filing into another room further down the hall, and Garak quietly disappeared into the crowd. Once he had entered, it became clear that this room was a theatre of some sort, with the performance area roped off from the audience and protective padding rolled out on the floor. Garak crept along the sidelines and took his place in the shadows among a group of older patrons. He was unable to stifle his curiosity at this point. If this had been Cardassia, he would have expected the show to entail activities such as poetry reading, sparring, and heated debate. However, he seriously doubted that this crowd would be interested in such pursuits.

Garak's mind wandered back to Dr. Bashir for a moment, and he wondered what progress his friend was making. His focus was then redirected when the theatre lights dimmed, and a small group of men entered the makeshift stage carrying what appeared to be drums and an assortment of other musical instruments which Garak could not name. The five musicians kneeled in one corner and set up the tools of their trade.

"A concert, perhaps?" Garak wondered aloud, though he could not fathom why such a small group of performers would need so much space. He could not see them very well in the dim light of the theatre, but they appeared to be dressed identically in white robes and their heads and faces covered by black scarves. One of the musicians, a drummer, began to tap out a slow, swinging rhythm. A few measures later, an instrument that sounded akin to a flute joined in along with the melodic ringing of chords behind it.

Garak could not tell what genre of music they were supposed to be playing, he guessed it was some sort of Terran folk or classical, but the scale and rhythm seemed a bit too exotic for that. He could admit that it was rather lovely, but it was hardly as invigorating as the dealer at the poker table had made it out to be. Garak supposed he should have been getting back to the main hall as it was too dark to spy on the crowd effectively anyway, but just as he was turning to go, the audience began to applaud. The Cardassian looked back toward the stage and saw a shadowy figure enter.

It had to be her, the performer Garak had overheard talk of. She appeared to float across the stage as she made her way to the center of the room. The music changed and decreased in tempo; the drumming became more prominent. The figure curtsied to the audience, eliciting more applause. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, though Garak could not quite put his finger on what. Her arms snaked upward, and her hips swayed to the drumbeat. A dancer. Now that seemed appropriate for such a disorderly crowd. Garak moved back into the darkness at the edge of the room to observe. The tailor in him had to admire her costume, it was a two-piece vermillion ensemble with black and gold swirls across the outer layers of the garment, topped off with a red and gold veil. When the dancer moved, the material flowed with her. It was like watching wildfire dance.

Garak indulged his interest a moment longer. After all, this was not something one would see on any given day. He shuddered at that thought of being discovered in a holosuite watching this patently indecent display by one of his fellow Cardassians. His people viewed dancing as an animalistic ritual of foreigners rather than an art form.

After watching the performer snake her way across the stage, Garak decided there really was nothing there to learn, and that the performance must have been a side-detail embedded in the program. He turned to make his exit and almost immediately ran into one of the security guards.

"My apologies, I was just heading out." Garak pointed toward the door, but the guard did not react. As a test, Garak tried to walk around the guard, only to be shoved backward. He searched the room for any other possibility of a graceful exit. There was one other doorway, but there were no guards in front of it at all, meaning they were not expecting anyone to go in or out of it. Effectively, Garak was caught in a trap. The patron standing beside him looked Garak in the eyes and grinned, showing the many gaps in his crumbling teeth. The man pulled back the edge of his jacket to reveal the pistol grip concealed by his baggy pockets. Message received.

Garak cursed himself for being so careless. They had been watching him since the moment they arrived. That was why Bashir and his companions had gotten past the bouncer so easily. The syndicate had planned on the three of them entering the nightclub voluntarily, and now Garak was separated from the others, in a dark room probably crawling with syndicate members, and in a holoprogram with no standard safety measures.

But it couldn't get much worse than that, right?

The semi-toothless man pulled the pistol out of his pocket and put the muzzle against Garak's lower back.

"Slowly now, walk to the front. Don't try to run, I promise you wouldn't get far."

"Don't mind me," Garak whispered back to him through the corner of his mouth, his eyes and face were still pointed straight ahead, "I won't give you any trouble. Besides, the view from beside the stage is probably far superior to here." After making a respectful obeisance, Garak wove his way through the audience, ignoring the sheer claustrophobia of the crowd at the edge of the stage as best he could.

The music stopped.

It did not end per se, but it stopped as if someone had hit the pause button on the musicians. Suddenly everyone was looking at him and holding their breath. That was when Garak noticed the dancer standing still in the center of what now felt more like an arena than a stage. One delicate arm was outstretched and pointed at him. They were less than twenty feet apart, and in the dim lighting, Garak thought he saw her flash a wicked grin. When he met the dancer's eyes, she turned a gloved hand over and wiggled a finger at him to come hither.

It was her again. For the love of Cardassia, couldn't it have been anyone else?

Garak obeyed and approached, stepping over the rope barrier that encircled the stage. He could still feel the wide-eyed stares of the audience burning into his back. All things considered though he was probably safe for the moment. It was probably considered inappropriate in human culture for a performer to execute her adversary in front of her customers.

"Come closer," The woman purred as she leaned back into her hip, "It's Garak, isn't it?"

"Yes Madam Qadir, we met last night." Garak stopped in front of her.

"So we have." Qadir laughed before flicking her wrist at the musicians who began to play another romantic ballad. Her laughed sounded so much like his dear Akkad's that he could almost believe it was really her. It was not the doctor, however, and he could not forget it for a second. He would have to have had a death wish to show a foe the affection he saved for his lover.

"Dance with me," Qadir commanded as she took hold of his hands. Her body began to rock in time with the music again as she pulled Garak along with her. He, more or less, just stepped back and forth, while she put on the show.

"So, _Vipère_, why don't you tell me where the others are?" Garak whispered into her ear as she did a cambre over his shoulder.

"Oh, never mind them, they are sleeping like babies, I assure you," Qadir whispered back. Garak stiffened in alarm, causing Qadir to almost lose her balance as she turned. The dancer pouted in distaste.

"So how did you do it, my dear? Did you kill the owners so you could take over this establishment and run your little side business out of it?" Garak felt a rush of air hit his skin as Qadir's skirts spun with her.

"Ooh, you're warm. Though I suppose if that were true it would make a far more

interesting story." Qadir put a hand a Garak's upper arm and drew one leg up the side of her body and out into the air as she balanced on relevé.

"You didn't take it, then I suppose this was always your base of operations. The syndicate started the business as a front." Garak guessed.

"Please, let's give credit where it's due." The dancer ran the back of her hand down the side of his face.

"You own this place?" On some level, Garak felt genuinely impressed. "Then why risk your life working with the syndicate? Surely your profits are enough to live on comfortably."

"That's true, money is no issue in this line of work, but I wouldn't have my business if not for my day job. How else could a dancer possibly earn enough money to purchase such a valuable property?"

"Ah, I see, so your loyalty was bought." Garak taunted. Qadir dug her fingers into his arm.

"Of course, I could not expect you to understand. But I came from nothing. When I was alone in an orphanage in Riyadh no one cared who I was, but now look at how the tables have turned. I will live a life worth remembering, instead of dying miserable in my sleep having accomplished nothing in all of my years." The musicians had stopped playing save for the two drummers who sent echoes all throughout the nightclub.

"Now listen closely because I'm only going to say it once. When the music stops, you will bow with me and then you will go back to where you were standing, after a few minutes, security will escort you out of the room. Later, we will have words." The music stopped and the audience cheered as Qadir and Garak.

"And just where should I expect to find you?" Garak murmured through a false smile.

"You will know. When it is time, you will now."


	3. Live and Let Die

Garak exited the stage as _La Vipère_ blew her last kiss to the audience, not looking back. When he rejoined the crowd, the man with the missing teeth was still there.

"Oh good, you've got some brain cells. Now get out of the theatre and wait for the boss-lady outside." Old toothless proceeded to melt back into the shadows. Garak stole a last glance at the stage, but Qadir had vanished as if the little flame had been snuffed out. He was quick to leave the room after that.

Qadir, as it turned out, did not keep him waiting for long. As Garak stood with his back to the wall, still wondering what had happened to Bashir and Komananov, when the agent by day, dancer by night, appeared at the other end of the hallway, accompanied by a security officer. She lit up when she saw him and headed over, strutting and self-assured as if she were meeting a friend of many years. If irony could kill…

"Such a gentleman, thank you for waiting so patiently while I changed." Qadir had exchanged her costume for a simple black knee-length dress. She laced her arm under Garak's and entwined her fingers with his. "Now let's go to my office. It's a little quieter there." Qadir had a bright, toothy smiled enhanced by her hidden ferocity. Despite the familiarity of the circumstances, Garak felt nostalgic for Akkad's restrained yet gentle nature.

"Your wish is my command." Garak rolled his eyes and reluctantly allowed her to lead him away.

Qadir's "office" appeared to be an extension of her own personal accommodations on a separate floor. It was furnished like a parlor, with couches circling a coffee table in the center of the room.

"Now this is one of the best views in all of Paris." Qadir extended an arm toward the wall to wall window overlooking the city. "Abdel, _qahwat min fadlik._ You know how I like it." She gestured at her guard. Her native tongue was very similar to Akkad's as well. Garak could recall several occasions when the doctor had ordered coffee from the replicator with a likely equivalent phrase.

"Madam, now that I have had a tour of your, I must say, impressive establishment, I should ask what your employer plans to do with Agent Bashir and Colonel Komananov?" Garak watched warily as Qadir sat down on the couch and reclined.

"Ah, ah, ah." Qadir held up her first finger on one hand. "You're under my roof, we play by my rules. Sit." The two stared each other down before Garak made the calculated decision to obey and sat down beside her on the uncomfortably small couch. Qadir's servant returned and placed her coffee on the table in front of her. "_Shukraan_, that will be all for now." The man bowed and retreated to the far corner of the room. Qadir took a small sip of her beverage and smiled wickedly at Garak again. "So tell me, my good man. What brings you to _La Ville Lumière_?"

"You don't know?" Garak asked as the metaphorical lightbulb went off. The plan was a bit of a gamble, but he did not have a lot to work with at that particular moment.

"Well if I had to guess, I'd say our friend Agent Bashir had the brilliant idea of looking for leads on his latest assignment right here in the snake den. I do know about his run-in with _Monsieur Duchamps_. I'm told he tried to pass himself off as a geologist to arrange a meeting with my employer. Not exactly up to standards tonight, I was rather disappointed."

"Then he is being held as we speak?" Garak asked, examining every microscopic change in her expression.

"Yes. We have something special in store for him, so he will be allowed to live a little while longer."

"Excellent, then everything has gone according to plan. If you should decide to put in a good word for me with Dr. Noah, I would be most grateful." Garak patted her on the back of the hand and smiled in relief. Qadir looked at him as if he were insane.

"What are you talking about?" Qadir demanded, her expression had gone stone cold.

"The plan to deliver Bashir to headquarters of course, what else? These infiltration assignments are getting rather tedious."

"If you're implying that we sent you to act as a double agent on our behalf, you can stop right there. I assure you our employees do nothing without my knowledge. Besides, I never even evaluated you as a potential recruit." Qadir watched him through narrowed eyes, genuinely offended at the mere suggestion of error on her part. There was nothing of Akkad in her vindictive nature.

"And of course, you never forget a face." Garak leaned in closer until he could hear her breathing. "But madam, it would appear that a lot happens without your knowledge." A nerve was struck, and Qadir's face twisted with fury.

"You insolent _ibn al kalb_!" Qadir shot up to her feet and dashed the cup in her hand to the ground, leaving a dark brown puddle across the floor. "You will live to regret that!" Garak patted her other hand which was clamped down to the back of the couch.

"Really? Oh, do continue. Exactly which of your underlings are you going to send to do your dirty work for you this time? I see you were wise enough to have one handy in case such events arose." Garak glanced at the servant, whose hand rested on his hip, prepared to draw gun from holster at a second's notice. If Qadir was angry before, she was practically boiling now. She seized him by the hair and shoved a knee into his stomach.

"Don't TEST ME!" Qadir growled, looming over him. Garak grabbed her by the waist and pushed her backward into the couch. She slammed into it and from the corner of his eye, Garak could see the servant drawing his gun.

"STOP!" Qadir shrieked at him before appearing to regain some of her composure. "I will handle this myself." She stood up again and smoothed out her dress.

"Go ahead, I can't think of a better way to pass the time than by watching you make a fool of yourself." Garak laughed and shook his head at her, though he wondered whether he had pushed her a little too far with that one.

"Laugh about it now, I promise your days are numbered." Qadir practically spat in his face. Such a stimulating rage. It made him wonder just how incredible Akkad would be in such a feverish state. Oh, to see her serene features ignite with unrefined passion…but those were thoughts for another time, however tempting the image might be.

"How I would love to trade insults with you all night, but frankly neither of us has the time."

"You certainly don't. Your presence no longer amuses me, but what makes you think you'll ever leave this room alive?" Qadir shot daggers at him with her eyes. The moment of compromise had arrived.

"I know I won't die here. After all, you still need me." Garak licked his dry lips and watched the scowl reform on Qadir's face.

"I have everything I require to carry out my assignment. What could I possibly need you for?" Qadir ran her palm down the hair on the back of his head, threatening to rip at it again.

"It's not about the assignment. It's about you. Who else is going to tell you everything that Dr. Noah hasn't?" Garak reached over his shoulder and removed her hand. It stayed balled up in a fist as he held it between their two bodies.

"There are no secrets between him and I. He never questions my work or my loyalty." The muscles in Qadir's arm were as tense as titanium cables.

"Are you sure? If you are then don't bother with me, but if you're not, how will you ever really know?" Garak's fingers danced lightly over the deep scars on Qadir's hand. She said nothing but watched him for a long moment. Then, without any explanation, she pulled a cigarette and a lighter out of a hidden pocket and lit it. Garak was a little taken aback, both by the stench of the thing and Qadir's lack of a reaction. She sat there beside him and watched plumes of smoke rise from the burnt end of her cigarette.

"Very well," Qadir said before the blowing the burning hot ashes from the cigarette into his face.

"GAHH!" Garak shouted as the cinders flew into his eyes and into his airways. He coughed and hacked desperately to draw breath, but his throat felt like it was on fire. Qadir pushed him down on his back and whispered into his ear.

"Just relax. I promise it won't hurt for much longer." Garak could feel the material of her gloves and her warm breath against the side of his face but he was too oxygen-starved to fight back. He had not planned on being so powerless.

"Shh…I'll see you in the morning." Qadir hummed as Garak succumbed to the pull of the unconscious mind.


	4. The World is Not Enough

Bashir woke up to a pleasant slap on the face.

"Julian! Get up!" Komananov shouted as a startled Bashir fell over the edge of the couch and hit the stone floor.

"Kira, what…?" Bashir rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the brightness of the room. Someone had turned the light level up to a hundred percent for some blasphemous reason.

"I told you I'm not Kira!"

"What are you talking- Oh no," Bashir screamed internally when he saw the major was still in her historical costume. He must have been asleep for at least a few hours and they were in still in the holosuite. He contemplated asking Odo about what progress they were making on fixing the transporter but decided that if it was taking this long then the answer was probably not encouraging.

"I'm trying to remember, Duchamps must have drugged us, but where are we now?" Bashir got to his feet and adjusted his now wrinkled suit. The room they were in was an ornately decorated sitting room. As Bashir took in the high ceilings and the various mineral samples on display on every table in the room, he was struck by the view.

"Anastasia, look!" Bashir pointed at the window as realization struck him. The building they were in was perched on a snowy mountain peak, overlooking a cavernous valley below. "We're on a mountain! I forgot this scene was a part of the program. Hold on, what happened to Garak?" Bashir jumped to his feet and began to search each corner of the room frantically.

"Oh, him. I forgot all about him." Komananov muttered in irritation. The whereabouts of Bashir's friend did not seem all that concerning when the fate of the world was still at stake.

"This is serious, he could have gotten hurt or…" Bashir's face twisted in frustration as he considered other possibilities.

"Or what, Julian?"

"…or he left the holosuite while I was unconscious. If he left me in here to fix this by myself then I swear…" Bashir fumbled with the lapel of his suit before he found the combadge hidden underneath.

"Odo, where's Garak?" Bashir growled a little too loudly into the badge. On the other end of the line, Eddington winced at the volume of his voice. The constable stepped back to the lieutenant's side.

"Doctor, the scanners are showing that he's still inside the holosuite. Why what happened?" If Odo could have sighed, he would have. He had enough to worry about at that moment without their Cardassian friend getting lost in some computer-generated fantasy.

"That's a relief, I guess. I thought he'd left. But I have no idea where he is in here!" Bashir held his forehead in his hand.

"He's a capable man, doctor. I'm sure he can stay out of trouble for a little while without a chaperone. I'll tell you if we make any new progress, Odo out."

"Julian, it is possible that your friend never left Paris." Komananov offered while making a mental note to ask Agent Bashir who this "Odo" was later.

"Possible, yes." Bashir rubbed his chin and looked at over the snowy mountain peaks. "But for the syndicate to just let an associate of mine walk away free? That isn't their style."

At that exact moment, as Bashir pondered over what fate had befallen his friend, Garak was struggling with the conundrum of how to remove a blindfold while his hands were tied behind his back to a pole. It was a crude form of imprisonment but effective, nonetheless. Garak could not tell how long he had been unconscious before he'd woken up in this state a few moments ago. He judged that he must have been moved as the temperature of the room was far colder than Qadir's quarters, and the air had a sterile smell like a laboratory. Occasionally he heard the sound of footsteps coming closer and fading away into the distance. There were distant voices, all either too low to hear or in some obscure Terran dialect that the universal translator would not decipher.

For all his experience and effort, Garak eventually admitted that his bounds were tied far too tightly to make a graceful escape. The rope dug into his wrists and his arms were beginning to feel numb from the awkwardness of the position. He allowed his chest to deflate as he leaned his head back against the pole in deep thought. He could not move or see, but he could still try to negotiate.

"If anyone is listening, I assure you that this is entirely unnecessary." Garak paused a moment, but there was no response. "I have every intention of cooperating." There was a faint rustling somewhere off to his left. Good, he wasn't performing to an empty room. "Besides, what threat do I, merely a man, pose to you?" There was a creaking noise coming from the same direction followed by a muted thud. "Or, if nothing else, perhaps I could offer you some…pleasant company? I see no reason why we can't at least chat a bit, given the circumstances."

"Personally, I preferred the struggling." A woman's voiced piped up from across the room. Garak wanted to groan aloud in exasperation.

"Honestly, madame, I find your obsession with me rather disturbing." Garak opted to say instead of any one of the myriads of insults he could have thrown at the agent.

"_Hal akhddrh, ya eashiqa?_" A male voiced chimed in from the other side of the room in his foreign tongue.

"No, _qad nahtajuh baed qlyl_." Qadir snapped back at him. There was another creak of shifting furniture, and Garak heard footsteps approaching him. A moment later and a shadow fell over his blindfold as a sweet, floral scent washed over him.

"Believe me, if I had had my way your corpse would be rotting in an alley right now. You should be grateful, my employer ordered me to bring you here alive against my counsel." Qadir hissed dispassionately. Garak could feel a pair of hands set to work on the knot that held his blindfold in place.

"If I see him, I will be sure to express my sincerest thanks." The strip of cloth fell away from Garak's face and he blinked incessantly at the obnoxious brightness of daylight streaming in from a window. Qadir was kneeling in front of his cross-legged body, the blindfold clutched beside her hip and her other hand wrapped around the pole behind Garak's head.

"Ah, now that's much better." Garak sighed in relief as his eyes adjusted to the light. "You're looking well, my dear." He had to hide his shock as he beheld the mountain range outside the window. "The fresh air at this altitude must be doing you some good."

"Flattery doesn't suit you, but I'm pleased that you have a chance to assess the hopelessness of your situation. We are hundred of miles away from the nearest settlement, and you would never survive the journey even if you tried to reach it." Qadir's body was relaxed but her eyes burned into him from behind the bleary mist of recent sleep.

"Yes, it would appear you are free to have your way with me. How I tremble in horror." Garak shook his head dismissively as every muscle in Qadir's body tensed up at once and her lip twitched as her bottled rage went to war with her self-control. "Go on, hit me. I know you want to. Draw blood like the little animal you are." The drowsiness evaporated from Qadir's vision and she seized his shirt collar with both hands.

"Such a limited imagination! There are so many other ways I could break you. Fortunately for you, you're just not worth my time." Qadir growled into Garak's face, at once confused and aggravated that he found some sick pleasure in the situation.

"But you won't. If I was to be injured under your watch, then I imagine your employer would be most displeased. I'd hate for you to be disciplined on my account." Akkad let go of him abruptly and rose to her feet. Garak could not help but grin madly. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed such thrilling activities in a past life. Qadir crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him while she tried to formulate a dignified response.

"No matter how long you stand there and stew you're not going to change the circumstances. So tell me, dear Tehmina, what will you do?" Garak watched her brow furrow as she averted her gaze toward the window, absolutely dumbfounded that she had been cornered so easily.

"Perhaps you should consider that the offer I made last night still stands. If you want to know-" Garak was cut off before he could even make his pitch.

"Leave us," Qadir ordered her servant, who had been standing so still and silent against the wall that Garak had forgotten he was there. The man bowed his head quickly and exited the room. The door slammed shut behind him. Garak looked back up at Qadir, one eye ridge raised in genuine bafflement.

"In my experience…" Qadir cupped the sides of Garak's face with deceptive gentleness before letting them slide down his neck to squeeze his shoulders, sending little shocks of sensation through his system. "…There are methods of punishment that do not result in the crippling of the body, but still give the tormentor the same satisfaction." Her thumbs ground into the muscle tissue just above his collar bone and the sharp edge of her nails dug into the base of his neck. Garak's eyes widened in sheer terror as she knelt again in front of him. "Besides, it is always preferable to test such procedures in a controlled environment before bringing them into the field." Without warning, Qadir shoved Garak backward by the hair and slammed her mouth against his.

It was then that Garak realized he had horribly miscalculated.


	5. Die Another Day

"Hang on, we don't know for sure that this is a kidnapping. They might just be trying to keep this location a secret." Bashir whispered as he glanced around the room for any obvious surveillance devices. "Keep the guise up and follow my lead."

"But Julian, even if their contact didn't figure it out last night, by now I'm sure they would have-" Komananov was cut short when the door suddenly swung open and a figure strolled in. She caught her breath and quickly regained composure. Upon seeing the character casually approach him, Julian was tempted for a brief second to shut the holoprogram down and just be done with it.

"Ah, Dr. Manal I presume? My associate Duchamps informed me that you would be joining us today." The character, who in appearance was identical to Commander Sisko, reached out to shake Bashir's hand.

"Yes, his efficiency is most impressive." Bashir shook the character's hand firmly, hiding his contempt behind a mask of pleasantry. "May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking to?" The other man laughed with Sisko's usual boisterous but dignified enthusiasm.

"Forgive me, I do get ahead of myself sometimes. I am Dr. Hippocrates Noah, chief organizer of the International Geologic Survey as I'm sure you know. So, I'm told that you are interested in joining our research team, correct?" Dr. Noah's voice was surprisingly pleasant, almost paternal.

"Yes, I am a professor at the Oxford Institute of Science, and some colleagues of mine informed me that the project was looking for experts in the field." Bashir nodded his head curtly as Dr. Noah first took notice of Komananov.

"And who is the lovely lady?" Dr. Noah took Komananov's hand and kissed it through her gloves.

"I am Alexandra Manal, the doctor is my husband." Komananov smiled politely to conceal a cold veneer.

"A lucky man." Dr. Noah held Komananov's hand just long enough to make her uncomfortable before turning back toward Bashir. "So Doctor, in your professional opinion, what do you make of this sample the research team collected?" Dr. Noah gestured toward a large fragment of stone that was displayed on a side table. Bashir moved in for a closer look, pretending to study the fragment even though he had already identified it.

"Judging from the dark coloration and reflective quality, I'd say it's a piece of raw hematite. They're actually quite common along the Eurasian/Indian plate boundary. Since it was taken from a mountain and looks relatively older, I'd venture to guess it was collected about twenty thousand feet above sea level?"

"Twenty-five thousand feet, actually," Dr. Noah replied with a smug grin, "It was taken from a mineral core extracted less than a mile from our main facility. Tell me, what is it about the IGS's research that caught your attention?"

"Well…" Bashir trailed off as he scrambled for an answer. "It may be just a rumor, but there are those out there who believed that your team have discovered and successfully weaponized a method of producing artificial earthquakes. I simply had to know if it was true." Bashir had to fight to keep his mouth from trembling or his eyes from averting themselves as he struggled to maintain a semblance of calm. Maybe Garak was right, he was not cut out to be a spy. Dr. Noah squinted at him from under the shadow of his brow. "In fact, it has been suggested, that some of the recent earthquakes in Nepal may have been the result of your team's experimentation." Dr. Noah's eyes widened a little at that, but something seemed almost put on about it as if he had to make an active effort to appear pleasantly surprised.

"Then Manal, perhaps you would be interested to know that this "rumor" is in fact correct."

"Really? Then you must tell me, how did you achieve such a breakthrough?" Bashir watched as Dr. Noah circled the room slowly so that he was standing between Bashir and the rear wall of the room.

"The idea was originally conceived during a routine study of tectonic movement along the Eurasian plate boundary. That was when we discovered that there were certain points in the earth's crust which were far thinner than the common understanding of geology would lead one to believe. In fact, in this area of the fault line, less than five thousand feet down, is a hidden magma well large enough from our projections to obliterate the entirety of the Tibetan lowlands. Doctor, surely you understand the significance of this finding. We can reshape the earth's crust at will!"

"Remarkable! But how did you do it?" Bashir urged again.

"By utilizing technology that was already available to us. Our scientists designed a laser-powered by plutonium batteries strong enough to melt through the crust. The earthquakes were a mere side effect of the real discovery!"

"But suppose this device were to fall into the wrong hands, with that kind of power you could destroy the earth's entire biosphere!" Bashir imagined the entire Eurasian fault as an open vein of magma, covering hundreds of miles of land and ecosystem in solid rock.

"Yes, I can only imagine." Dr. Noah chuckled to himself. "Fortunately, they'll never get the chance. And neither will you." He pressed a button on his watch through the material of his shirt sleeve. "Agent Bashir, I believe you've already met some of my associates." Bashir's blood ran cold as the pair of double-doors swung open and O'Brien marched in with his flunkies, still in character.

"Julian, they've known about the plan the entire time," Komananov whispered into Bashir's ear, voice trembling ever so slightly.

A second later another familiar character strutted into the room with a hand on her hip. "Julian, Anastasia, so good of you to join us. Your friend and I just had a lovely chat." Qadir's dark curls bounced from one shoulder to the other as she turned her head back toward the door.

"Bashir, they've known about the plan the entire time!" Garak's voice rang out as another guard pushed him through the door.

"Yeah, we sort of deduced that Gar- good lord, what happened to you?" Bashir's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he noticed the purple bruises around Garak's mouth, and his ordinarily perfectly groomed hair was a mess of tangles. He had also lost his overshirt at some point during his misadventures. The guard behind Garak pushed him toward Bashir and Komananov with his pistol.

"Oh, a few minor mistakes. It's really not worth discussing." Garak shook his wrists and straightened his shirt, not taking his wary eyes off Qadir as she moved to Dr. Noah's side.

"Now, I suppose I owe you an explanation since you got this far. You see Bashir, our invention has more than the potential to destroy earth's crust, that is what we designed it for." Dr. Noah pressed another button on his watch and a concealed panel on the rear wall slid away, revealing a screen showing a map of the world. A second later, a woman in a white lab coat with striking spots down the sides of her face emerged from the other side of the wall.

"Wait, Dax is on their side? Garak, we were way off." Bashir could feel his cheeks flush with sheer embarrassment.

"And to think, this whole time I was attributing the absolute insanity of this story to sloppy writing." Garak sighed and tutted to himself.

"Save it for tomorrow's lunch," Bashir muttered through gritted teeth.

"So you recognize her?" Qadir asked facetiously as Dax's character fiddled with the computer's control panel. "Dr. Bare's work has been essential to the project. With her help, we were able to construct twenty-five different lasers and place them at strategic locations along fault lines."

"and once the lasers have drilled through the crust at the tectonic boundaries, approximately fifteen percent of the mantle will be drained onto the surface and allowed to solidify." Dr. Noah nodded toward Dr. Bare in acknowledgment as she finished her task and vanished behind the computer.

"But that would reduce the surface area of the earth. Ocean levels would rise drastically." Komananov began to put the pieces together.

"They're going to drown the human race," Bashir stated gravely. "But why?"

"So we can begin anew. Civilization, as it exists in its present state, is a failed stage in human evolution. Our history is wrought with constant war, unrest, inequality, and corruption. We will purge the world of its filth, and all of those chosen to survive will redeem themselves for their time spent with the scum of the earth." Dr. Noah pointed past Bashir and Garak to the window overlooking the mountains. "You see, once the flood has subsided, the peaks of the Himalayas will become a chain of islands where the chosen few can form a new civilization. In exactly thirty-five minutes, judgment day begins."

"You won't succeed. Every government on earth is working against you." Komananov growled.

"Against what? We've kept the nature of the project secure even from the technicians who set up the network of laser arrays. Anyone who even came close to discovering the truth is lying in a shallow grave right now. Being threatened with international retaliation is about as a threatening as a chicken running around without a head." Dr. Noah laughed aloud. Qadir's smile was venomous as she listened to him speak, tinged with a lighter shade of madness.

"Falcon, Ms. Qadir," Dr. Noah continued, "who shall bid our guests a final goodbye?" Qadir stepped forward without hesitation.

"I captured them, I will finish the job."

"Very well. Agent Bashir, I regret that we couldn't talk longer but it appears that time is running out. The rest of us, including colonel Komananov, will watch from here as our brave new world takes shape." Dr. Noah and his cronies laughed in unison as Komananov was dragged away by the arm.

"What are you going to do to her?" Bashir gasped, momentarily forgetting that she was a mere projection of light rather than his friend the major.

"Our society will need healthy young women like her to repopulate the world. Don't worry, she is in no danger. Although I can't say the same for you."

"Take them to the laboratory," Qadir ordered her subordinates, who proceeded to seize Bashir and Garak from behind and push them toward the doorway.

"You could just ask us nicely." Garak quipped before one of the men gave him a hard shove between the shoulder blades.

"Garak, don't provoke them." Bashir griped as he struggled to stay on his feet while being half-pushed and half-dragged out of the room.

"Well doctor, maybe you haven't been paying attention but we're long past that now." The air was knocked out of Garak's chest as the guard rammed him forward again.


End file.
